three times bakura damned his soul
by princess-kally
Summary: and the one time he saved it. Geminishipping (Yami no Bakura x Thief King Bakura) for r2 of s9;3/4 of the ygo fanfiction conest.


A/N – I'm on holiday away from home, with only my brother's tiny netbook to work with, and I've barely had enough time to write, so please excuse the quality of the writing for this story. Reviews and concrit appreciated.

Written for r2 of s9 ¾ ygo ff contest .

Title: three times bakura damned his soul

Summary: and the one time he saved it.

Pairing: Geminishipping (Yami no Bakura x Thief King Bakura)

* * *

01.

the pharaoh's soldiers are here and his mother is hustling him away, his mother is gripping him with two hands, a tender smile on her face as tears streak down from her eyes and she kisses him on the forehead and says 'run, child of my heart' and these are the last words he hears from her.

'run, child of my heart'

(what she does not say is this – 'be like the wind. remember us, but do not waste away.' she would have, she should have, but she will never say the words that would have saved her son's life three times hence, three times hence, when he would stand and stare at the abyss, and the abyss would stare right back. 'remember us, but do not waste away.')

these are the last words he hears from her.

around him the village is burn burn burning down, there are soldiers taking his family there is his uncle and his cousin and he played with little Hora this morning, they were playing gods of the two lands and she was the pharaoh's lower wife, plotting with the great thief king to end her servitude, and she is being dragged, screaming, he hears her screams, and fire is making this place hot, too too hot everything is burning

little Hora is screaming

(little Hora for Horakthy of light, for she is the Light of her parent's lives, for they have wanted, but failed to create children for many a flooding of the Nile. little Hora shall never smile again at him with crinkled eyes, or run up to him and give him half a share of her apple, shall never say 'Look Bakura, look!' at some silly inane thing he is too old for but he will never say 'no' to her. He will never say 'no' to her ever again because there will be no more Hora to say 'no' to because—

she is almost dead (will be dead), eyes bulging out of their sockets as her mouth gapes open for air, face turning purple as she is bodily dragged by the throat, the soldier not caring that she is dying

_everyone is dying_

he follows the soldier ('Just tidying up, Priest A-') because Bakura is a thief and he knows how to sneak, he knows how to whisper through the sand with his feet, and none will hear him, he is no prodigy, but this is something every child learns, this is something that they were born to do

(when they are born, they are taken to the high dunes, and held by two, so that they may taste the wind, and let it settle into their bones. Kul Elna is not religious, but they remember the wind, which carved away their valley from the rock many thousands of years ago, and continues to break it down, little by little)

there is a cauldron and his heart is beating too loudly (shhh) and there is family family family family but no mother or father there are bodies and these people are his family and they are melting they are melted and Hora is pushed in, a violent shove from her captor and she tumbles in, doesn't even scream, she melts away and her face is distorted as the bubbling stew in the cauldron melts her away and he watches in horror quiet shock as everyone down to the grumpy old fisherman who maintained the shrine is pushed in

they pour the bodies into stone and he thinks 'oh' because this is a sacrifice, and he is numb all over, he's been pushed (like his family) into a state of static shock and it's time to leave it's time to go away before the soldiers come

he is in the desert and his family, his village, Kul Elna, is dead and gone and he is only the one left, but he too will be gone soon, the moisture sucked from his body by the unforgiving winds

his body will dry up and shrivel and the sand will reclaim him and the last of the thieves of Kul Elna will die, there will be no more of Kul Elna

**do you want to live, do you want revenge do you live want live do you-**

_'Live,' _he thinks because he does not want to die he wants to avenge his family he wants to live he wants to see mama and papa and Hora and he wants his uncle to save him the last of the fruit stolen from the market and pat him on the head again

_he wants_

**….power… do you want it…. then give me…..**

there's a giant claw reaching out to cut him in half and he's scrambling away and it cuts through him, flesh and bone and blood, which trickles through the sand and stains it red (but the wind will blow it away) and all that is left of him is a broken bag of meat-

"LIVE!" he yells as the world comes back into focus again, he is-was-forever will be drifting in nothingness, there is nothing before this moment until the memories rush back in-

(mother, father, little Hora and the grumpy fisherman who took care of the shrine)

he wants to cry, but you do not cry here, for your tears will be stripped away from you by the wind and the sand will dry your bones and you cry into the abyss only. if you cry, no one will save you.

he wants to live

he wants vengeance

_he wants._

(the rest of the story goes like this. he meets a demon who calls himself God, and it says to him: prove your worth to me, and I will take your soul, in exchange for power. for vengeance, for life. swear to me that you are mine, and i may grant you strength.

he swears

(the thing is, he's young and foolish and all he possesses is _want_. he doesn't think, reaches out with want, and there's nothing to stop him from breaking.)

(the first step is taken, a curse is placed. for every hope, vision shall be clouded, thoughts turned to darker paths, redemption always there, but never truly in reach. 'be like the wind. remember us, but do not waste away,' his mother does not say. behind him, the spirits howl angry.)

* * *

_Bakura is a small, but quick child who smiles bright at the girls and boys of the village from behind the skirts of his father as they trade pots for fruits, who steps soft but not soundless into the vaults where the jewels are kept. Bakura who leaves behind the family heirlooms and takes half the coins and says to his father, eyes bright 'i'm too small to carry it all,'. Bakura is the small child who smiles bright at all the boys and girls._

_Bakura is a sullen almost teen with a scar on his face and a mad glint in his eye, who smirks at all the boys and girls of the village as they shy away from him. Sizes them up, as if he were judging them and their worth. He takes the food and all of the coins, and breaks all the pottery, laughing as he runs away into the night, knowing that none in this tiny town far away from the Pharaoh's protection can defeat him._

Bakura is dead, long live Bakura.

* * *

02.

Bakura smiles, eyes bright and sharp as mechanical soldiers chase after him, a Pharaoh's tomb of treasure in his bag, excitement flooding his veins. He knows the world vividly, he sees every detail, can predict every move. There's a blade, three times his height, making its way toward him, and he knows just when to jump to avoid it, just how to use it to his advantage, hears the faintest whistle and the flood of air that signals its approach. He jumps, and exhales as he hangs off the top of the blade, balancing in a thin beam. It slices through his pursuers, rendering them useless lumps of metal and cheap blades.

Bakura laughs.

Something laughs with him, inside his head, voice lower, older, and he feels the faintest brush of cold fingers trail across his shoulder, and it makes something hot and tight curl within the depths of his belly, a strange spark that is all at once pleasure and a distraction.

It's not important. (Until it is.)

He's out the tomb and now there is trouble because there are human soldiers, and they are sharp and unpredictable, highly trained and angry and he is match for any of them, but against ten, he cannot win.

_'You asked me to prove my worth,'_ he thinks and ducks beneath the swing of a sword. (That day is a fuzzy memory in his mind, not quite real, but something that cannot be mistaken for flights of fancy. He swore away his soul that day, he needs the power, and now. But none comes.)

_'Have I not proved myself worthy, that I would defile the resting place of a Pharaoh, the son of Ra himself, and come out alive, all alone?'_

There's a laugh, and a brush of cold fingers through his hair, dragging sharply against his skull.

**VERY WELL LITTLE THIEF**

Words dance on the edge of his mind but then he feels it, a flood of power that races through his body and into every pore, pushes him down, and all he feels is pain. Someone is screaming, long and loud and when he opens his eyes, he feels blood trickle down and some lucky soldier has gotten a hit in, his eye-

(is bleeding, is dripping blood down and down and his eye has been cut he-)

_...eye...will...fine..._

Yes, his eye will be fine. For now, he has power. He is faster, he is stronger, if he wants, then he _can_.

His body is moving, nay, dancing through the soldiers, dagger of iron, hands of quick silver, making cuts and tiny nicks, little distractions which become _more_.

_...your ka...monster from...your heart...your soul..._

**...SPEAK ITS NAME, THIEF**

But he does not know its name- For a moment, he wonders, if something has gone wrong, but then, a name springs to his lips, dances on the edge of his tongue, and he _knows_.

"Diabound!"

In the aftermath, he stands alone, and an idea occurs to him, and there's no need to, but he remembers Kul Elna, the destruction, the way the soldiers smiled, _cruel_, (faces distorted, smiles stretched) as they set fire to the Kul Elna shrine. He snarls, and puts his mind to work.

When he is done with the tomb, it is in ruins, weapons scavenged, traps completely disabled and only the cheaper trinkets left behind. He would burn it, but no, it is better to let his associates know that there is a tomb open for pickings. Let the scavengers come. Let them defile the resting place of God, as he has. The Pharaohs deserve no less.

He smiles (it is not a happy smile).

(a hand drags its icy cold fingers through his hair, a pat on the head for the actions of a good child. It curls around his shoulders, possessive. He barely feels it. Doesn't mean it isn't there.)

* * *

03.

He is standing in the hall where many are judged by those who do not deserve to judge, Diabound and the Other pushing, straining against the edges of his mind and he drags the corpse forward and laughs.

(Do you understand what I am doing, Pharaoh? Do you understand what I am saying, o Priests, o Pharaoh? He laughs, because he is spitting in their faces, spitting in the face of the highest order. Around him, bridges fall, children die, and the universe spirals out of control. In that moment, he is expansive, he is the universe, chaotic and unpredictable, no God who cares enough to save the Two Lands.

(He laughs as order breaks down.))

You are not untouchable; you are fallible; you are human; you are no son of Ra; and your father no longer is in the earth (for even Gods return to the earth).

He is angry, he is satisfied, and everything is descending into _chaos_.

(The Pharaoh is hurt, the Pharaoh wants to cry but the Pharaoh cannot cry. See? See? This is what your father did to me. This is what your crown did to me. So feel the loss, o Pharaoh of the Two Lands. Feel _my_ loss.)

Later, when his heart beats slow and steady but the adrenaline hasn't gone he sits in the cave and slumps down against the wall-

Laughs.

There's another laugh behind him, louder, more tangible.

"You are me," he breathes, and watches the Other (the voice that laughs, the hand that curls around him, possessive), standing above him, with intent eyes, drinking in every pore of pale pale skin and pale pale hair. He's pale, foreigner pale and exotic, something rarely seen in these parts, but he knows this face, knows the curve of this jaw (his father's jaw), and Bakura has wanted nothing more than this beautiful creature, except perhaps for his family-village to be alive.

"_I am you,_" the Spirit echoes back and pushes him down, hard, and sits on top of him. (What he does not say is this:_ I am your rage and anger and the part of you that laughs when you defile a dead man's grave to spit in the face of his son_. I am not the part of you that says, "your parents would not have wanted this". I am the part of you who says "_your parents have no bodies to bury, they cannot pass on because of this man and his family_.")

Bakura knows that his smile reflects the one that he sees on the Other's face, wicked and teasing and eyes heavy with want.

"You are mine," the Spirit says, and bites him, hard on the lip. "You defiled the Pharaoh's corpse, dragged it out for all the world to see. You bring down divinity with your own two hands, and laugh while order breaks down. _You are mine_."

Bakura arches into the press of cold hands, and steals a kiss. "I am yours," he says. "Body and soul."

He doesn't notice the smirk on the Other's face.

* * *

**?. and the one time he saved it**

They are being dragged into Millennium Ring, caught inside the Pharaoh's spell. If Bakura didn't hate him so much, he would be impressed by the sheer guts of the Pharaoh.

He grips onto the hand of the Other tightly, because the Other is being dragged in first (the Dark God's influence is stronger on him/this part of him. He holds on tightly because, "I am yours, you are mine."

The Other stares at him, and Bakura wonders when his eyes became so red.

"No," he says, "I will not damn you to a restless eternity," and lets go.

He falls.


End file.
